


The Son of God

by BuggreAlleThis



Category: Ancient History RPF, Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF, Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Ancient Egypt, Gen, Historical, Pre-Arrangement (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 06:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21441721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuggreAlleThis/pseuds/BuggreAlleThis
Summary: Crawly arrives at the Oracle of Ammon in Siwah, in the Libyan-Egyptian desert, with someone hot on his tail. Aziraphale has trouble code-switching.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 183





	The Son of God

**Author's Note:**

  * For [proskynesis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/proskynesis/gifts).

> A giftfic for my own beloved Crowley, [proskynesis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/proskynesis), who asked for Aziraphale as the priest whose Greek mispronunciation helped fuel Alexander the Great's obsession with divine origins, and Crowley as the snake who led him through the desert to Siwah. One day we'll go to Siwah together, I promise!

“No, no, it’s all right!” Aziraphale said as he ran across the inner courtyard of the temple complex, gilded sandals slapping on the stones. “I know him, it’s all right.”

The broom-wielding _wab _priests gave him odd looks, but dispersed, grumbling. Aziraphale scooped up the coiled black snake off the stones, and switched to Hebrew. “What on Earth are _you_ doing here?”

“What’re _you_ doing at the _Oracle of Ammon_?” Crawly said, looking around at the painted hieroglyphs and the statues of rams everywhere. He tasted the air, then began to wind his way over Aziraphale’s shoulder and around his neck. 

Aziraphale carried him into the darkness of the innermost shrine and sat on a stone bench beside the pool. “It’d hardly be my choice, would it? I have no idea. I said, you know, aren’t we meant to be _discouraging_ idolatry and polytheism, and Gabriel just said orders are orders, sit yourself there for the foreseeable.”

Crawly made himself comfortable. Aziraphale was always nervous speaking to him when he took a human form, but it was easier when he was a snake, for some reason. Different expectations of eye contact, perhaps. “Nice and cool in here anyway. Good place for a ssnooze.”

“I thought you liked the heat?”

“Yeah, when I’m a _ssnake_. I don’t like keeping this form for too long. Keep thinking I won’t be able to turn back. Can you put me up for a few dayss?”

“I really shouldn’t.”

“Go on. I’ll buy you ssome nice date wine.”

“I don't need you to buy me anything. People just _give_ it to me, I keep telling them not to. Then they try and offer it to one of the statues, so it’s better if I just I take it. Don’t want to encourage any more idolatry than I have to.”

“Mm. Sspeaking of special priviledgess, how come you aren’t all baldy like the others? I was quite excited to ssee you looking like an egg.”

Aziraphale poked Crawly in retribution. The linen shendyt left his torso bare, and Crawly’s tail was tickling his abdomen. “I’m meant to. Eyelashes and eyebrows and, you know, all the hair in other places. Purity reasons. But Ammon’s a ram, so I told them the hair was a sign that I was chosen by him as his Oracle – bit woolly - and they let me keep it.”

Crawly snickered, then tried to get his head comfortable on Aziraphale’s gorgerine: golden wings, studded with feathers of crystal and lapis lazuli. “Nice necklace, by the way.”

“Oh, thank you! The place is absolutely littered with salt, the priests here can just swap it pretty much weight for weight for gold. Even the _wab _priests get a ring. There’s plenty of food too – quail, pomegranates, dates… I shouldn’t have complained, really, there are far worse places to be stationed. I just _hate_ pretending to be a pagan. Greeks are one thing, but a _priest of Ammon_. Urgh.”

“Mm. Nice and idolatrouss. Ssleepy. You’re ages away from anything, and this group wass on my tail the whole way here. Wanted to get here before I sslept, in case they ssquashed me.”

“Probably some petitioners who got lost,” said Aziraphale. “I’d better tell the high priest.”

“You’re not the high priesst?”

“Oh, no! By God, I couldn’t pull _that_ off with a straight face. And all that management… No, I’m the _hour-heb_. I’m, well, the Oracle. I interpret the way the ship moves, do the astrological stuff, work out the lucky and unlucky days, that sort of thing. I just spend most of my time in the Per-Ankh.”

“The house of life – what’ss that again?”

“The library. Scriptorium, etcetera. It’s pleasant enough – quite fun, actually, even if it is all hogwash – but I’ll be happy to get permission to leave. I want to go back to Persepolis. Oh, here he comes – em hotep, Nakht!” he said.

“Em hotep, Ashaperel.” The high priest was clipping a heavy gold belt on top of his shendyt. “Is that thing poisonous?”

“Oh, no. Oh, actually, yes, but he’s fine with me. He’ll behave himself – _won’t he, Crawly?_”

Crawly flicked his tongue at Aziraphale’s earlobe in response.

“If you’re sure – might look pretty good, actually,” Nakht said. “Some kid’s conquered Kemet and he’s come all the way here, straight from Memphis. The palace just sent a box of gold over, so we know he’s on his way. Give him the full experience, right? The whole show. Last thing we want is to piss off the new Pharaoh.”

“No, quite,” Aziraphale agreed.

“All right – I’ll tell the lads to get the boat ready,” Nakht said, and went out to find some of the smarter priests.

“That’s the _nice_ thing about Egypt,” Aziraphale said, sitting back again. “Never changes. You come back after five hundred years and the language is the same, script’s the same, all the rituals, all the clothes. Baths four times a day. Once you work out who the new favourite god is, you’re laughing.”

“Sspeaking of which, what’ss the boat?” Crawly asked.

“That’s the usual oracle. Big statue of Ammon covered in jewels – silver cups all down his sides, pouring from his hands.”

Silver was much more expensive in Egypt than gold, for all that it tarnished. Egypt had plenty of gold mines, but silver all had to come from Asia. The priests of Ammon pleased lots of foreign answer-seekers by being so delighted with silver offerings.

“Very fancy.”

“And then he’s carried in a gold barge by the priests, on their shoulders so everyone can see him, and the temple women follow singing and dancing. It’s very cheerful!”

“How doess that give you an ansswer though?”

“It doesn’t – there’s a boy in a secret compartment of the barge who rolls around inside it. Makes the boat-bearers move. If they go forwards it’s a yes, if they go back, it’s a no. If it just shakes it means ‘the god’s angry at the question’. That’s a marvellous one, I use that all the time. If someone’s asking for a choice between two options, Nakht writes the options on potsherds and we see if it moves more towards one than the other. He and I interpret it. Oh, hello.”

There was a sound outside of approaching drums and the tinkling of sistrums. Aziraphale reluctantly got up and stepped out onto the white steps of the inner-shrine; he raised his hands, one to shield his eyes, and one to shield Crawly’s. “There, can you see it? They’re bringing it up the hill now.”

“I ssaid I’m _tired_, Aziraphale.”

“If you want to go inside go, but you have to stay as a snake. This could be why I’m here. A new Pharaoh could mean change…”

A scene was beginning at the gate of the inner courtyard. Nakht was arguing with a boy, dressed like a Greek, with curling hair that shone gold in the sunlight. The boy made a dismissive gesture towards the boat, eliciting some gasps from the crowd outside. A taller, dark-haired figure alongside said something that made Nakht cringe and wheedle.

“What do you think?” he asked Crawly.

“The boy’s the Pharaoh, obviously. European conquerors, by the look of him. He’s arrogant. Desperate.”

“Always a heady mixture,” Aziraphale said. “Uh-oh.”

Nakht was leading the golden-haired Pharoah towards them across the inner courtyard; his companions remained by the gate.

“Ii-wey!” Aziraphale said in welcome. “Em hotep, sa’i.”

Their guest answered him in another language - after trying to comprehend the boy’s absolutely barbaric accent, he recognised the language as Greek. Ah, that was all right - it was a while since he'd used Greek, ever since that _disastrous_ symposium, but he’d slip back into it quickly enough.

“Khaire, ho paidios – paidion, aphes moi,” he amended. “Khaire, ho paidion!”

The Europeans at the gate murmured to each other.

“What did you say?” the boy said, advancing. As his eyes adapted to the blinding sunlight, Aziraphale realised he was a bit older than he’d thought: perhaps in his early twenties. Amongst the blazing white stones of the temple he’d looked younger. Well, just short, really. But his eyes – quite astonishing eyes! Large and light-grey, but the outer corners and his brows angled downwards, giving him a solemn, wistful air.

“I'm ever so sorry - obviously you’re a _neaniskos_!” Aziraphale said with a wide smile and the tone of a distant aunt exclaiming how much a child has grown. “I was just trying to be friendly. You know. Ammon says hello, you’re very welcome! I didn't mean to offend you.”

“You called me _pai Dios_.” He turned around to look back at his friends, then back to Aziraphale.

“Paidios – yes, yes, I know, I'm ever so sorry, I’ve not spoken Greek for a few decades, I forgot ‘child’ – you know, a human, but smaller! – follows _doron_, doesn’t it? Though if it _did_ follow _anthropos_ it’d be _anthrope. _That's always the mistake, switching back to an old language: overthinking! Always my problem. Now, what can I do for you, my dear?”

“I have questions for the god Ammon,” the young Pharaoh said haughtily. Behind him, Nakht was desperately trying to communicate something to Aziraphale.

“Ah. Um, well, usually we put it to the oracle, and the way that the statue moves-“

“No.” It was a voice like iron. “I was told that the barge is the symbol of a Pharaoh, yes? I am also a Pharaoh. I will speak to the god face-to-face.”

Thus Nakht’s agonies. Aziraphale nodded thoughtfully. “If you like. I’m the Oracle. We’ll step in here, and High Priest Nakht will look after your friends.”

The young Pharaoh followed him through into the shade of the shrine. It was a long room, ten feet by twenty, with a pool running up the centre of the floor and a roof of palm trunks. After the white stone and Sahara sunlight of the courtyard, it was dark and cool.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Aziraphale said. “We’ll go to the far end, if you want privacy.”

“I do.” The young man’s eyes were fixed on Crawly. “That’s the snake which led us through the white sands.”

“Did he? Well, there you go. That’s nice.”

The Pharaoh sat on Aziraphale’s bench at the far end. Aziraphale sat beside him, and watched for his reaction; the young man’s grey eyes widened a little, but he didn’t object. Very interesting.

“You don’t look like the other priests.”

“No. I’m a traveller. Rather like yourself. We’re both far from home.”

The Pharaoh nodded. “Are you my father?”

Crawly tightened around him in a paroxysm of laughter; Aziraphale could hear it in his ear, the little _tstststststs_ that he was trying to keep under control.

“No, absolutely not!” Aziraphale spluttered. “No, dear boy. Whatever gave you that idea? I’m the oracle of Ammon.”

“Then whose son am I?” the Pharaoh said. It was an obvious challenge.

The boy was Greek – well, not quite, with that accent... Macedonian. That’s where he knew it from. Philip of Macedon had destroyed the Sacred Band at Chaeronea. That meant that the boy in front of him was Alexandros.

Alexandros the Macedonian, who was already Pharaoh of Egypt.

“I think,” Aziraphale said delicately, “that you will not be known as the son of Philip. Philip will be known as the one who sired Alexandros.”

That was the right answer. Alexandros’ eyes gleamed in the cool gloom. He suddenly gripped Aziraphale’s wrist. “Will I rule the world?”

Crawly shifted, very interested now. His head reared up, and he swayed slightly; Aziraphale could see him out of his peripheral vision.

Alexandros looked at Crawly without fear. “My mother keeps snakes. This is the snake that led me here. To you. Oracle, will I rule the world?”

“Why would you _want _to, my boy?” Aziraphale asked. It wasn’t just his eyes, he realised; it wasn’t just a trick of the young man’s physiognomy. There was something yearning in him – a restlessness. Restlessness to the point of pain. Alexandros could no more stop _pushing_ than he could stop breathing.

“Oracle,” Alexandros said, apparently taking this as a test rather than a sincere question, “will I rule the world?”

Aziraphale sighed, and studied the young Pharaoh for a moment. “I think you’ll push forwards, until you can’t push forwards anymore. I promise, eventually there’ll be some obstacle, some boundary that even you can’t cross. If you intend to go east, against Darius, you should seek out the story of Gilgamesh. That’s a story that has a lot to teach you. About friendship, and ruling, and immortality.”

Alexandros stood, and while he didn’t have a plethora of inches, in every one he had he was a king. “I’ve heard you, Ammon. I’ve heard you.”

Aziraphale frowned. He had that horrible _shifting_ feeling that he got when something Ineffable was at work. “You’ve heard, but now listen. I think you’re going to conquer a lot of people-“

He held up a hand. Crawly was hissing in his ear. “No, no, no, you don’t get complete influence, thiss issn’t _fair_-“

“You came to _me_. Shush,” Aziraphale muttered, and turned back to the young Pharaoh. “I’m so sorry about him. Listen, the people you conquer, you have to be kind to them. Mercy is the truest sign of strength. Let them worship their own gods – or, you know, _God_, singular, for some people, I know it’s a quite a mad concept, but you should really consider thinking about- oi!” Crawly was making a bid for Alexandros, aiming to wind up his arm instead, and Aziraphale caught him behind the head. Crawly bared his fangs and writhed. “I’m just saying, when you get to Jerusalem, be kind to everyone there, Ammon will be _furious_ with you if you hurt any of the people of Judah.”

“Is he all right?” Alexandros said.

“He’s just fine, if he doesn’t want a drink any time in the next thousand years,” Aziraphale said sternly, and Crawly finally stopped thrashing. He slid off Aziraphale to curl up on the bench, and visibly _sulked_ at him.

“Right…” Alexandros said. “Sorry, um, what was that about Judah?”

“Just, when you get to Jerusalem, let the people there worship as they wish. Be tolerant and kind. With all the people you encounter, obviously, but do drop by Jerusalem. Do you know Tyre?”

“Oh, yes,” said Alexandros. “I know Tyre.”

“Right, perfect, well, Jerusalem’s a big city on a hill south-east of Tyre, just south of the Salt Sea. Now, _there’s_ a temple that’s really worth seeing.”

Alexandros nodded. “Thank you, Oracle. For everything you’ve told me.”

Aziraphale really didn’t think he’d said much, but he smiled and stood up. “Well, you’re very welcome, my boy. Come back any time.”

He waved as the young Pharaoh walked out of the shrine, and then turned on Crawly. “That was _so rude_. I didn’t think we- We don’t _do_ that sort of thing to each other, Crawly, I don’t like it.”

Crawly was resuming his human form, hidden in the shade of this end of the shrine. “Yeah, because usually the stakes are the waitress bringing the drinks! Not the bloody Pharaoh! And he must have most of Anatolia, if he came here by land, and wants to square against Darius.”

“Yes, I did think of that. Oh, I wish they’d just give me some _instructions_ sometimes! I _bet_ he was the reason I was sent here. You _do_ think he’ll be nice to Jerusalem, don’t you?”

Crawly shrugged. “Who knows. If I were you, I’d be more worried about the fact that I addressed him as _son of God_.”

Despite the heat of the desert, Aziraphale felt ice run all over him. “_Pai Dios_. I called him _pai Dios_.”

“Yup.”

“Wait – oh, oh no, oh dear – the Greeks in Cyrene think Ammon’s Zeus, don’t they?”

“Yup.”

“Oh- oh, this is terrible,” Aziraphale said, sinking back down onto the bench. “Oh, that’s why he asked if I was his father! Oh, cripes. What am I going to _do_?”

“Oh, so now you want some help with the charming boy-king?” Crawly said smugly.

“Crawly, don’t be mean.”

“You can shove it.”

“I was only trying to be nice to him – he can’t really think he’s the son of a god, can he?”

“If he’s been crowned in Memphis he’s not just the son of a god, he’s a god himself. Oh, shit!”

Crawly transformed back into a snake, far, far smaller than his usual form, and thrashed his tail to slither between Aziraphale and the wall.

Aziraphale had heard the chime, but it didn’t stop him from jumping when Gabriel’s face suddenly appeared in the pool at his feet. “Gabriel!” he squeaked. “What a- a _lovely_ surprise!”

Gabriel gave a rippling grin from the pool. “Well, you’ve earned it, buddy! Head Office just sent the message down that whatever you just did, perfect. Absolutely according to plan, mission accomplished. So now you’re free to get on with…” He waved his hand. “Whatever it is you do. Right, talk to you soon!”

The archangel’s image vanished, and Aziraphale slumped in relief. Crawly poked his head out again. “He gone?”

“Yes. Stay small, though. Sometimes he’ll come back as though he forgot something. Try to catch me in the act.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

They watched the pool for a long time in silence. Outside, the drums and sistrums had started up again, and beyond the palm trees, the mountains shimmered and shifted in the heat.

Crawly wound around Aziraphale’s wrist. “I could really usse ssome of that date wine right now.”

“Me too,” Aziraphale said softly. “I wish I knew what She was thinking. There’s something about him… Brr. I don’t know.”

“Potential,” Crawly said. “Potential for great good or great evil. Whatever vission he choosses, he’s got the power to sspread it. That, and he’s obvioussly got a boat-load of daddy issues.”

“Whichever he chooses… We’re going to have to follow him, aren’t we?” Aziraphale said morosely.

“I definitely am,” said Crawly. “But after the date wine.”

**Author's Note:**

> The story behind this fic is that when Alexander went to the Oracle of Ammon at Siwah, he asked some questions and was apparently very pleased with the answers, but we don't know exactly what the questions were. One account says that a priest of Ammon, trying to be friendly, addressed Alexander as "ho paidion", meaning "child". However, a slip in pronunciation or unfamiliarity with Greek lead to the priest addressing him as "ho pai Dios" instead, meaning "son of Zeus". Due to a Greek population in Cyrene, the Libyan Ammon (who had already been conflated with the Egyptian pantheon head Amun) became associated with Zeus, and the Oracle with Ammon was considered to be a very important oracle by the time of Alexander.
> 
> Obviously I've gone with the theory that Alexander was made Pharaoh in Memphis. I have absolutely no reason for this other than wanting to do it.
> 
> Em hotep - lit. In peace, general Ancient Egyptian greeting.  
Ii-wey - lit. you have come, expression of welcome  
Sa'i - my son  
Khaire - lit. rejoice, standard Ancient Greek greeting  
Aphes moi - forgive me
> 
> By this point Alexander's already fucked Tyre, but he does take Aziraphale's advice and treats Jerusalem very well. Unfortunately for Aziraphale, he'll burn Persepolis to the ground in an out-of-control drinking party. Thanks, Thais (and Crowley???).
> 
> Also, as Crawly says, Aziraphale really ought to be bald - ancient Egyptian priests removed all their hair, including eyebrows, eyelashes, pubic hair, everything, as a matter of purity. I just couldn't do it to The Curls, despite how hilarious the mental image was.


End file.
